The King and the Coward
by CheerUpSleepyJean
Summary: Kings and traitors, friends and foes, romance and danger—it's the story we all know and love with a fresh twist! Lion King: the Human Version! The first few chapters are very loyal to the original, but as the story goes on, it becomes its own.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Prologue

"...and the Builder Clan has successfully repaired the meeting hall for the Assembly of the Clans."

Clearing his throat, Zazu continued reciting the news of the Pridelands while King Mufasa looked on from his throne.

"In other news, sire, the northern tunnels have been raided yet again by the Looters. Twenty members of the North Mining Clan have been injured."

The king distractedly tugged one of his dark dreadlocks.

"Yes, well..."

Mufasa shook his head roughly, snapping to attention.

"Zazu, I will have you tell the captain of the guard to cut down on palace security. We shall any guards we can spare to protect the miners."

"Very well, sire." Pursing his lips, Zazu scribbled something down on his tablet.

"Now, for the crop quotas—"

The advisor was interrupted by the door banging open. An old man whose wild white hair greatly contrasted with his dark skin, limped into the throne room. Zazu wrinkled his beaky nose.

"Excuse me Rafiki, but you shall have to wait outside until I have finished briefing the king."

Rafiki gave a wide smile.

"Oh, I think he'll be much more interested in the news I have to tell..."

Shoving the diminutive advisor aside with his staff, Rafiki strolled right up to Mufasa.

"It is my pleasure to inform you that your wife has gone into labor. She is birthing your child as we speak."

His face like that of a child in a candy store, Mufasa leapt from his throne. The larger man sped rapidly from the room, Rafiki on his heels. After a moment of hesitation, Zazu carefully set down his papers and skittered after them.

Just as Mufasa came to a halt outside the palace's hospital wing, a high-pitched cry resounded. Eyes sparkling, he practically floated into the delivery room.

An exhausted Sarabi was laying in a cot, a wrinkled infant at her breast. Mufasa's usually stern features melted into tenderness and awe as Sarabi spoke up.

"Our son is born."

Just as Mufasa was giving his wife and his son each a kiss on the cheek, Rafiki and Zazu finally arrived at the doorway, the latter panting slightly. The king and queen, oblivious to their presence, were speaking in hushed tones.

"Let us call him Simba—he shall have his father's lion heart."

Mufasa gave a deep, hearty chuckle.

"Oh, that is a trait he would have inherited from his mother. Simba he shall be!"

Grinning widely, Rafiki approached the infant. He grabbed a vial of red ocher from his pocket, and gently anointed Simba, spreading the paint into the shape of a mane.

"This child is destined for greatness. One day, he will be a brave and powerful King."

Faces filled with hope and excitement, the new parents stared down at their child.

"Yes, well..." Zazu cleared his throat. "I will start filling out his birth certificate—we must legally establish the boy as your successor..."

Lurking in the shadows of the doorway, unnoticed, a scarred figure scowled.

 **A/N: I figured that, being the rulers, Mufasa, Simba, Sarabi and Scar would sound more "posh" than some of the other characters, so that's why they're speaking so formally.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

"...and so, by harvest season of the same year, the Looter's guerilla tactics had been proven ineffective, and their forces had been almost entirely eradicated."

As Zazu rambled on, his class of nine-year-olds continued to nod off. Suddenly, Simba jerked upright. The burst of movement caught the eye of his friend, Nala. She shot him a questioning glance; he responded with a mischievous grin. Taking a rubber band from his pocket, he waited until Zazu's back was turned, and opened fire.

"Ow!" The old advisor whipped around.

"Such insolence! Who is responsible?!"

Simba tried to keep a straight face, but made the mistake of stealing a glance at Nala. Almost immediately, both burst into giggles.

"I might have known...would I be correct in assuming Simba is the perpetrator?"

"Yes, it was me."

The young, auburn-haired boy hung his head, not in shame, but to hide his smile.

"That's the fourth time you have disrupted the class today, young man. Just because you are the prince does not mean you have special privileges—in fact, you should be more disciplined than your peers!"

Simba rolled his eyes at that; after all, why shouldn't the prince get to do whatever he wanted?

"I saw that, Simba! Perhaps I will just have to let your parents deal with you..." Zazu said slyly. "Imagine how disappointed they will be when they learn of your behavior."

The boy immediately tensed up.

"But—"

"You will report home immediately Simba, and tell your parents I desire to meet with them."

Shoulders drooped, Simba slunk from the room, meandered out of the stone and clay building, climbed over the rocky outcroppings burnt red by the sun, and reluctantly entered the palace.

The entrance hall of the Pridelands Palace, walls intricately painted, was filled with visitors and rays of afternoon sunshine. Simba slipped through the commotion to the royal family's private wing. The guards on either of the hallway saluted him as he trudged to his room.

"In trouble again, Simba?"

The prince whipped around to see his father looming over him.

"Yes sir..."

"What was it this time? Lateness? Making noises similar to flatulence?"

Mufasa folded his arms.

"Shooting rubber bands?"

Simba flinched.

"Yes sir. But— "

"Do not give me a single excuse. I expect you to write a letter of apology to Zazu. He's been a loyal advisor for decades, and he deserves your respect."

With a sigh, Simba mumbled "I am sorry, father. But the class is just so boring! I do not want to learn of these old battles and past kings!"

Mufasa's brow furrowed, and Simba feared that he would be in even more trouble. Instead of staying cross, however, his father's face turned tender.

"I cannot lie; I was similar when I was your age."

He patted his son's shoulders and led him to a balcony. Spread out in front of the pair was miles of terrain, sprinkled with gnarled trees, red rocks, and fields of coarse grasses.

"Gaze upon the land before you, my son. Everything the light touches is our kingdom. But that was not always the case..."

Simba sat by his father expectantly.

"Only decades ago, the Pridelands were a place of rampant crime. A gang known as the Looters pillaged everything in sight, murdering or enslaving anyone who refused to cooperate."

"Why did the people not rebel?"

"Fighting long-held traditions and tyrannical authority takes rare courage. No one in the land was brave enough to take on the Looters...save for one man."

Mufasa placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"That man was Jabari—your grandfather, Simba."

The prince's brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight as Mufasa continued.

"Under his brave leadership, the scattered people of the Pridelands bound together, training in secret until they were ready to strike."

Mufasa's voice rose in excitement.

"And when they struck, it was with the fury of a thousand suns, with the power of rain on the parched fields, with the vitality of an oasis! They banished the Looters into that shadowed crevice, far in the north!"

Mufasa gestured to a dark canyon, which looked like a scar on the beautiful Pridelands.

"But the struggle was not yet over."

Engrossed, Simba gave a small gasp.

"No, the people of the Pridelands were still in danger, for the land was in ruins, and the Looters still threatened our border. While Jabari had led our people to victory, he knew not how to maintain it."

"What happened, father? What happened?"

Looking at Simba's eager face, Mufasa couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well Simba, a young woman from the grass fields, Akilah, bravely demanded to see Jabari. Logical and determined, she proposed a plan to the king to rebuild the Pridelands: the formation of our Clans. The strong would be brought together and form the Builder Clan, the swift would be brought together and form the Messenger Clan, the wise would come together and form the Strategist Clan..."

"And we are the Royal Clan because we are descended from Jarabi and Akilah!"

"Indeed. With each Clan fulfilling their duties, the Pridelands became the glorious kingdom they are today."

Mufasa put a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Someday, you will have to rule with all of your ancestors' bravery."

"I will not let you down, father."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

"...and then Father said that I would rule as well as Jarabi and Akilah someday!"

"Did he now..."

Scar's apathetic mumbles contrasted greatly with Simba's excited rambling as the two walked through the palace's halls.

"Say, when I am king, what will that make you, Uncle Scar?"

If looks could kill, Simba would have died there and then.

"A monkey's uncle."

Oblivious to his uncle's anger, Simba giggled lightly.

"Oh Uncle Scar, you are so strange!"

"You have no idea..." He mumbled.

"What did you say?"

Scar's green eyes suddenly held a steely glint.

"Oh, I was simply wondering whether you father had shown you your future kingdom yet."

Simba nodded eagerly.

"We have been all over the Pridelands!"

"Really? Even the northern border?"

The prince glanced out a nearby widow, spotting the shadowy canyon that defined the northern border of the Pridelands.

"Well, no...father said that the area is too dangerous because of the Looters."

"Too dangerous?!" Scar gave an exaggerated gasp. "You will be ruler of the Pridelands! How could he deny you your right to see your future kingdom?"

Turning away so that Simba couldn't see his face, Scar smirked slyly.

"Unless of course, he thinks you are not brave enough to face the dangers."

He didn't need to turn around to tell that Simba was on the verge of throwing a tantrum.

"Why—I AM brave! I will convince him to show me the northern border right now!"

"And if he refuses?"

Simba stopped short, but his determined expression soon returned.

"Then I will go without him."

The young prince stalked off, leaving a grinning Scar behind.

After watching Simba disappear from view, Scar slunk out the open window. He then carefully crept across the royal grounds and stole away across the Pridelands, heading north.

After a good half hour of walking in the blazing sunlight, Scar finally reached the precipice of that ugly cut in the ground—the edge of his brother's territory. Without a moment's hesitation, Scar leapt into the the gaping maw of the canyon, hopping from ledge to narrow ledge until he had reached the bottom. Scar stood in that crack in the earth for several minutes until he heard a faint echo, and set off in that direction.

As Scar walked, the sounds that had attracted him became comprehensible.

"Will you two knock it off?! Just look at yourselves!"

"He started it—"

"No wonder we're at the bottom of the heap!"

Scar turned the corner, revealing the speakers: three scrawny Looters, their dark skin turned grey from never feeling the sun. The only woman of the bunch, who Scar knew as Shenzi, continued her rant against their banishment.

"Banzai, Ed, if it weren't for those Royals, we'd be runnin' the joint!"

One of her companions grumbled.

"Man, I hate Royals."

Shenzi smirked.

"So pushy."

"And hairy."

"And stinky."

"And man, are they—"

"Ugggly!" Banzai finished, dissolving into laughter. Ed started cackling so hard he fell over.

"Oh come now, surely we Royals are not all bad."

Scar smirked at the fear in the faces of the Looters as they whirled around; it disappeared, however, when he heard them sigh with relief.

"Oh, it's jus' Scar!"

"I was thinkin' it was somebody dangerous!"

Coldly, Scar muttered, "Indeed. It is true that I have not come to harm you."

His green eyes flashed.

"Actually, I have a proposition I think you will find...intriguing."

Banzai and Ed were both wide-eyed, but Shenzi's brow was furrowed.

"What kind of deal ate we talkin' here, Scar?"

"You and your clan will be assisting me in the coup of the century, the murkiest scam, the entrance of a shining new era! The era of King Scar...and his loyal Looters."

Still skeptical, Shenzi raised an eyebrow.

"And where do we feature?"

"Just listen to the teacher."

He ran a finger over her sharp jawline, making her scowl and slap his hand away. Unfazed, Scar continued his speech.

"With an army of bloodthirsty savages at my side, King Mufasa will soon fall, and I will reign. Stand by me, and you will have the entire Pridelands to ravage!"

With that, Banzai punched the air, and Ed let out a "whoop!"

"Well, I dunno..."

Banzai smacked Shenzi's arm.

"C'mon! I thought you wanted us to go up in the world!"

She studied her eager companions before turning back to Scar.

"Well?"

He held out a hand.

Face suddenly erupting in a toothy grin, she clasped his outstretched hand.

"Long live the king!"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello, Guest! Thank you for leaving a review! I would have liked to include "Be Prepared" (it's so epic!) as well, but has a rule against including song lyrics. Maybe you can sing it as you read lol**

Chapter 4:

After he had made his decision, Simba strutted into the palace. Without a moment's hesitation, he marched up to the throne room and flung open the doors.

"Father!"

Mufasa spun around, his long, beaded locks whipping his face.

"Simba? Is something wrong, son?"

"Something is very wrong..."

Simba straightened up as he had been taught, looking every bit like a Royal.

"It has come to my attention that we have not yet visited the northern border, father. I respectfully request that we do so as soon as possible."

Mufasa raised an eyebrow.

"I explained why you cannot go there, Simba. It is much too dangerous—the mines in that region are attacked frequently by Looters."

"I assure you, father, I am plenty brave. I can face the dangers!"

The king heaved a sigh.

"This is not about bravery; it is about common sense. You are but a child, and—"

"I am also a Royal!"

Simba's small hands balled into fists.

"Why do you doubt my courage? I can do this! I deserve to see my kingdom!"

"Simba!" Mufasa barked, causing the prince to jump.

"You are not yet king, my son, and you are not entitled to anything as of now!"

As Mufasa strode past Simba to retire to his and Sarabi's rooms, he stated:

"Those are my final words on the manner."

For a moment, Simba could only stand there, boiling in rage. Suddenly, he turned and ran out of the room.

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Perched on a boulder, Scar watched the young prince tear across the Pridelands due north. A sly grin crossed his face. He waited a good ten minutes, watching Simba disappear into the distance. When he lost sight of his nephew, Scar leapt from the rock and ran into the palace.

"Brother!"

Mufasa, who had been meditating on the balcony near his rooms, jumped.

"Scar! Is something the matter?"

"It's Simba! Someone..." Scar feigned breathlessness. "Someone just told me that Simba passed by a few minutes ago—heading north! I cannot imagine why he would leave the grounds alone..."

Mufasa gasped.

"The northern border!"

He leapt up and dashed away, Scar on his heels. Together, the brothers tore across the burning landscape to the steep, rocky region at the edge of the Pridelands. He only stopped once he had reached the edge of the cliffs.

"Simba!"

"Look, down there!"

On a small precipice halfway up the canyon wall, they could see a small figure cowering. Mufasa's heart skipped a beat when he saw almost twenty Looters clambering toward the boy.

"Son! You need to climb!"

Simba looked up with teary dark eyes, but remained paralyzed in fear. The Looters cackled as they made their way to the prince.

"No!"

Without warning, the king jumped into the crevice, slamming his back into the canyon wall on the way down. With a grunt, he landed on the same ledge as Simba.

"Simba, climb!"

The boy still wouldn't budge, even as a grayish hand grabbed at the rock near his feet. Panicked, Mufasa scooped up the boy, tucked him under a beefy arm, and started to scale the cliff with one hand.

"Hurry up, you fools, or they'll escape..." Scar snarled, still perched on the edge of the cliff.

Like a spider, Mufasa continued to crawl the nearly-vertical cliff face with the Looters on his tail. Finally, his free hand clasped the edge of the crevice.

"Take...take Simba!"

A scowl crossed Scar's face for a moment as he took the prince from his brother.

"Get away from the edge, boy!"

Finally mobile, Simba scurried away.

At that moment, a hand grasped Mufasa's ankle, loosening his grip. He was desperately grabbing at the rock face when Scar's long fingers clasped his.

The brothers stared into each other's eyes. Scar suddenly smirked.

"Long live the king."

He relished the fear on Mufasa's face as he tore his brother's hands from the cliff and watched him fall.

Simba, hearing shouts from the Looters and the screams of his father, came running. Scar quickly masked his joy with sorrow.

"Father!"

The prince stared down into the crevice, horrified. All that he could see were Looters climbing down toward an immobile speck at the bottom.

"I am sorry, Simba. He is gone."

"No..."

"Your father is dead, Simba. Even Mufasa he did miraculously survive that fall, the Looters would have killed him at the bottom. No, he is certainly dead! Gone forever!"

Tears began leaking from Simba's wide eyes.

"Needlessly dead as well. This could have been prevented if only you had listened to Mufasa when he told you to climb."

The prince suddenly tensed.

"You mean...it is my fault that he is d-dead?"

Scar nodded solemnly.

"B-but I was scared!"

"Yes, yes you were. But fear is not a quality befitting a Royal, Simba."

A sneer spread onto Scar's face as Simba sobbed harder. With considerable effort, the traitor injected his tone with sympathy.

"There is only one way to fix this, Simba: you must leave."

"B-but—"

"I will tell your mother that you died with Mufasa in an accident. No one will ever have to know of your shame."

"Uncle, please—"

Scar haughtily turned away from the boy.

"Leave, now!"

Simba reeled back. Then, rubbing at his teary eyes, he ran.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: hi guest! Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you like the fic so far! In response to your comment: yeah, this is much longer than what I usually write, so I am having some trouble pacing it evenly. If you have any tips, lmk!**

Chapter 5:

The fugitive prince couldn't say how long he had been running, or even where he was at this point; Simba had found the end of the crevice an hour ago and crossed out of the Pridelands, but had continued his mad scurrying. In this area, however, there was no water, no plants, and no shade—just intense sunlight and cracked earth as far as the eye could see. The scenery rippled, making Simba long for a drop of water. His mouth and eyes had long since run dry.

Finally, he decelerated. Legs aching, chest heaving, and tongue panting, Simba collapsed.

Ten minutes later, fate dragged two foreign figures to the scene—one tall and bulky, the other short and skinny.

"See, it's like told ya, Pumbaa! We're too close to the Looter territory. There's nothin' left here!"

"How can you say that, Timon?"

"Like this!"

The shorter of the two grabbed the other by the ear and yelled: "THERE'S NOTHIN' HERE!"

"What about that rock? Or that other rock? Or that small child? Or that speck of dirt—"

"Hold it right there, buddy."

The smaller one scampered up to where the prince had fallen.

"Looks pretty fresh! I'm surprised the buzzards haven't gotten it yet."

"Maybe that's because it's still alive, Timon."

"Whaddaya talkin' about, it's not—"

A glance downward revealed that Simba's chest was still rising and falling.

"Holy crap!"

The large man lumbered over, scooping up both his companion and the boy.

"C'mon, Pumbaa, let's go find some shade...gee, I dunno what's weirder: the kid bein' alive or ya being right!"

The trio traveled over the cracked plains until a spot of green appeared in the distance; it slowly grew into a clump of tangled tree limbs and vines. Once they had picked their way through the greenery, they set the boy down at a sparkling blue oasis and began splashing water on his face. The dirt on his face was gently washed away.

"Let's see what we got here..."

The smaller one crouched next to Simba, carefully examining his features.

"He's gotta be around ten...sturdy build, though, so he can't be a Strategist or a Scribe or anything like that. And red hair...that really narrows it down."

"You have red hair too, Timon! Maybe he's from your clan?"

"Naw, he's too tall to be a miner. Let's see, that leaves..."

Timon jumped back with yell.

"Jeez, he's from one of the rulin' clans! C'mon, let's move it!"

He tugged on Pumbaa's arm

"He's just a little guy. Can't we keep him?"

"Pumbaa, are you NUTS? If anyone sees us in a ten-foot radius of the kid, they'll think we kidnapped him. You know what people think of guys like us!"

"But we can't leave him all alone! He's so tiny—"

"Maybe by your standards!"

A groan cut off their bickering; Simba blinked his dark eyes and slowly sat up.

"Huh? Who...who are you?"

Pumbaa began to speak, but Timon immediately slapped a hand over his companion's mouth.

"Good question, kid, but I've got a better one: who are YA?"

The bigger man plucked Timon's hand from his lips.

"Yeah, a little guy like you shouldn't be out here all alone."

Simba gulped.

"Um, I got lost. While I was heading back home from...from working in the fields."

Timon raised an eyebrow.

"And ya wound up in the desert—outside the Pridelands? I don't think so."

He looked at the boy askance.

"Besides, what would a member of one of the rulin' clans be doing in a field?"

"You are mistaken! I am from the...the Eastern Farming Clan!"

"With that fancy-schmancy accent?" Timon snorted. "I don't think so."

Simba opened his mouth to protest, then sighed in defeat.

"Very well. I am the son of...er, the duke of the eastern ridge. Really lowly—not a powerful position all. I have left the Pridelands, for I am a fugitive. My cowardice has brought dishonor to my family."

Remembering Mufasa's screams, Simba's eyes suddenly welled up.

"I made a mistake, and my father tried to help me, and now he is..."

The words caught in his throat as he burst into sobs. Stunned, Timon awkwardly patted the boy's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, no tears now."

Pumbaa scooped up Simba and squished him in a bear hug.

"Oh, that's so saaaad! Now you've got to come with us."

"Pumbaa!"

"But he's all alone! He belongs with us. Please? Pleasepleaseplease pleeaaase?"

Timon looked from the child's damp gaze to Pumbaa's puppy-dog eyes, and his face softened.

"Well, I guess it can't hurt to stick together. That is, if you wanna come with us, kid."

Simba's tears stopped.

"Y-you would not be ashamed to associate with me?"

"Heh. We'd be hypocrites if we did."

Pumbaa scratched his head.

"I thought we were humans."

Rolling his eyes, Timon climbed onto his companion's back, Simba in tow.

"So, ya got a name, kid?"

"Sim—"

He stopped, not feeling worthy of the name.

"Taka. I am Taka."

 **A/N: Taka is Swahili for "garbage." In case you didn't know, it was also Scar's name before he got his scar (according**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: hello to my latest guest! Though I'm not entirely sure what you meant by your comment, thank you for reviewing. Also, I wouldn't advise taking anything I write seriously XD**

 **Also, thanks so much for your kind words, TheSheep64! I'm glad you're enjoying the fic!**

Chapter 6:

As they waded deeper into the greenery, Simba studied his saviors. Pumbaa, on whose shoulders he was sitting, was simply large—partially from fat and partially from muscle. His black hair was long and shaggy, tied in the back to form a bristly tuft. In direct contrast to his companion, Timon was barely taller than Simba despite appearing to be in his early twenties, and very thin. His scarlet hair stood straight up, making it look like his head was on fire, and his eyes were an unusual olive green. It was glaringly obvious that the two were from completely different clans.

"Now, may inquire as to who you are?"

"Well, I'm Timon—"

"And I'm PUMBAA!"

The two smaller males nearly fell off of his shoulders at this outburst.

"Take it easy, big fella." Timon said, patting his companion's cheek.

After regaining his balance, Simba decided to be more specific.

"No, I mean your identities. To which clans do you belong?"

"Does it matter?"

Simba blinked, meeting Pumbaa's wide, innocent gaze.

"Of course it does!"

"If ya really gotta know, we're both Outcasts. He's ex-Construction, I'm ex-Mining."

The boy froze. Outcasts—the scum of the Pridelands! Familiar with the system, Simba had heard of people being born into clans, only to find themselves failing their tasks, their destinies, their families. The sole way to avoid this shame was to land a job outside of one's clan, like Zazu, who had originally been a Messenger. Otherwise, one would become an Outcast: useless, worthless, doomed to being shunned by society and living like a Looter.

Not unlike his current status, Simba realized.

"I suppose I am, too."

"Exactly!" Timon exclaimed enthusiastically. Seeing the shock on the boy's face, he elaborated.

"Let me tell ya, kid, it ain't as bad as they say!"

He hopped off of Pumbaa's shoulders and gestures broadly at the sky.

"We've got no 'destiny' crap to tie us down—no responsibilities, no worries...I'm tellin' ya, it's paradise! Right Pumbaa?"

Pumbaa nodded vigorously, nearly knocking Simba off his back once again.

"Hakuna matata!"

"Hakuna matata?" Simba repeated hesitantly.

"That's it!"

Timon gave the boy a light punch on the arm.

"C'mon kid, and we'll show ya how great this life can be!"

Pumbaa pushed aside one last branch to reveal a space with fewer trees. Instead, there was a row of disheveled houses, partially reclaimed by the green vines. A crystal clear stream ran through the center of the obviously man-made clearing, with flowers covering both banks. There were chunks of concrete here and there, but nature had prevailed, shooting plants up through every crack. Even the wind shifted constantly, as if the trees that lined the clearing were breathing in and out.

"It's beautiful..." Simba whispered in awe. "Is all of this really yours?"

"Well, that's the best part, kid!"

Timon gestured broadly at the beautiful piece of land.

"It doesn't belong to anybody—it's free!"

"Just like us!" Pumbaa exclaimed, popping up between the two.

"So kid, whaddaya think?"

"I—"

He was cut off by a ferocious growl from his stomach. Simba cringed, but Timon and Pumbaa just laughed.

"Guess it's time to rustle up some grub!"

Parting a few vines, they entered the dilapidated old house; the boy looked about in complete awe. The odd paper stuck to the walls, the glass gourds hanging from the ceiling...it was like something out of the elders' stories.

"Wh-what is this place?"

"Hmm? Oh, the house!"

Timon slapped a hand on Simba's shoulder.

"See, way back when the Looters were on the rampage, they drove everybody outta here and took all the valuables."

He waltzed over to a nearby cabinet and flung it open.

"But they left all these goodies behind!"

Stacks of ancient cans and boxes of dry goods wouldn't normally be impressive, but in Simba's hungry gaze, they might as well have been surrounded by a golden light. He watched eagerly as the others got cooking.

"A box o' tortellini, a can o' beans, and our secret ingredient—"

Timon sashayed to the side of the stove as Pumbaa lumbered over...and dumped a pile of dead grubs into the pot. Simba froze, then began gagging.

"Ewww! What are you doing?!"

"Hey, if we only ate the packaged stuff, it'd run out before ya could call Pumbaa a meshuggeneh! Besides, don't knock it till ya try it."

Pumbaa, trembling with giggles, spoke up.

"Besides, we told you that we were rustling up...some grub!"

He began guffawing at his own joke. Timon joined in, slapping his large friend on the back before returning his attention to their meal.

Regaining his composure, Simba twisted up his features at the proffered bowl. He glanced at the other two, however, and his face softened; seeing them dig in with gusto made his empty stomach growl angrily. Finally, he picked up the plastic fork he had been given, scooped up a bite, and after a moment's hesitation, popped it in his mouth. The disgust in his expression immediately turned to satisfaction—the grubs hardly had any taste, and the rest of the dinner was perfectly delicious.

"Well?" Timon smirked, seeing the boy's childish grin.

"Hakuna matata!"

 **A/N: a little background info...**

 **This fic is takes place in a sort of a post-apocalyptic situation. The old villages were largely abandoned along with all their technology while the Looters took over the continent, and the people had to reinvent the wheel after the Looters were driven away using only the limited resources they had left. They switched back to torches and such because they haven't rebuilt power systems. Thus, Simba and the others have only heard about stuff like light bulbs from the elders.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here's where I start incorporating "The Lion King 1 1/2." I think it's important to show Simba growing up, and I always kind of disliked that they skipped over it in the original. Plus, it's fun to write, so here ya go!**

 **Thank you so much for review, TheSheep64 and AllHailKingScar!**

Chapter 7:

"Rise and shine, kid!"

Sitting up in his cot, Simba rubbed his eyes to see the redhead in the doorway of the boy's room tapping his foot.

"C'mon, we gotta get out before the sun gets too high."

"Where—" Simba broke off, yawning. "Where must we go?"

"Well if ya gonna stay with us, ya need clothes, shoes...all that crap. Throw on whatcha got for now and get moving!"

The boy rubbed his eyes and yawned again. A nightmare has awoken him at dawn; he could still hear his father's screams ringing in his ears, could still see the jagged cliffs and the small speck that used to be his idol, his friend, his mentor, lying still at the canyon bottom. When he finally jolted awake, traumatic images still burnt into his eyes, Simba had then spent hours mourning Mufasa and missing his mother and his best friend, Nala, until he finally cried himself back to sleep.

Still, he didn't want to get on the bad side of his new companions—after all, who knew what crimes they had committed to become Outcasts? He complied with Timon as quickly as he could and rushed to the kitchen area. Pumbaa immediately bounded over and swept him up into a bear hug.

"Hello Taka! Oh, I'm so glad you're with us now!"

The surprisingly friendly pseudo-giant herded Simba into a seat at the gnarled wooden table.

"I made pancakes!"

Now that he wasn't desperate for food, Simba was feeling picky. He eyed the food suspiciously.

"Are there grubs in these, too?"

"Nope!"

Satisfied, the boy scooped up a large forkful and shoved it in his mouth.

"Just a couple of worms and beetles!"

Simba stopped chewing abruptly, considered for a moment, then swallowed anyway. After yesterday's dinner, he supposed that a few more bugs were no big deal. Besides, Pumbaa's cooking was delicious. The trio barely spoke, they were so busy eating. Once they had had several pancakes each, Timon belched and spoke up.

"Alrighty, let's go!"

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They walked almost half a mile, but Simba was too busy staring at the lush surroundings to notice the distance. Every plant imaginable, from the most delicate flower to the thorniest vine, seemed to be growing here. Occasionally, the sparkling stream would peek through the greenery, and the boy was tempted more than once to rush over and jump in.

Finally, the trio reached their destination: another row of ruins, all that was left of what was once a bustling community.

"Ok, we'll need kid's clothes—just nab whatever ya find, and we'll see if they fit later—a better bed, toys and crap like that. Kid, stay close."

Pumbaa began lumbering off.

"And the same to ya, Pumbaa."

The larger man stopped short and sheepishly walked back to his friend's side.

Simba began picking through the rubble, feeling almost as if he were still dreaming. It was an odd feeling, rummaging through the remains of someone else's life, especially since the original inhabitants had to be long dead. He found a portrait on a nightstand, only the size of his hand. It was faded and burnt around the edges, but he could still faintly see a smiling man and two giggly children. A tear splattered on the small paper. The boy set it back where he had found it and went back to searching, heart aching.

Once he had nabbed at the children's clothing he could carry, Simba glanced around for the others.

"Timon, Taka, look! I found a bed!"

Simba watched Pumbaa grunt as he began lifting the iron bedframe.

"Hey, hey! Ya know yer not s'posed to pick up stuff this big!"

The skinnier man rushed over and grabbed one of the rails.

"Here, lemme help."

"Gee, thanks Timon!"

Pumbaa promptly let go of the bed, letting Timon stumble around for a moment, holding it above his head. Finally, he dropped it and became trapped underneath.

"...no problem."

Simba giggled, but he soon sobered up.

"Why must you not lift anything heavy, Pumbaa?"

The large smile on his fat face wavered.

"I've got a bad back. They overworked me at my last construction job, and...

His gaze dropped to the ground.

"Well, I can't lift anything too big anymore. That's why I'm an Outcast."

Simba's face screwed up, the story having left a bad taste in his mouth. Reading his expression, Pumbaa quickly put the grin back on his face.

"Oh, it's not so bad! After all, if I were still part of the Construction Clan, I wouldn't have met you and Timon!"

With that, he yanked Timon out from under the bed, scooped up Simba, and brought them in for a bone-crushing hug. Timon patted his friend's chest.

"Thanks, buddy."

Simba looked at his face; Timon wore a contented, tender expression quite unlike his usual sassy smirk. Cautiously, Simba decided to stop squirming in Pumbaa's arms.

And when he accepted the hug, he felt just a bit warmer inside.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: thank you so much for the reviews, JustPassingBy and TheSheep64! I'm so glad you're enjoying the fic, and I really appreciate your kind words! They really help me stay motivated.**

 **Speaking of motivation, I do want to mention something…this is likely going to be the longest fic I've ever written, which is part of the reason why I'm posting so sporadically. I just want to get this out there: while there may be gaps between updates, I do fully intend to finish this. I appreciate your patience.**

Chapter 8:

"You want me to do what?!"

Simba gaped at Timon, who had his hands on his hips.

"I want ya to gather some wood for the stove. Pumbaa's gonna cook dinner."

"But that's a servant's work—"

"Ya see any servants around here, kid?"

Pumbaa got up and looked around.

"Just a few tasty-looking beetles, Timon!"

Pumbaa began chasing the bugs, missing the eyeroll his friend gave him.

"Anyway kid, here's the deal: ya do a share of the chores, or ya go to bed without dinner!"

Simba glared at him for a moment, then stomped off toward the trees. Before disappearing behind a trunk, he turned his head and stuck his tongue out at Timon.

"I saw that! No cockroach cream pie for you tonight, bud!"

"Thank goodness" Simba muttered.

A few minutes later, he goose-stepped back to the clearing and dumped a bundle of sticks by Pumbaa's feet.

"Aw, thanks Taka!"

Pumbaa bent double to whisper in the boy's ear.

"Hey, I'll save you a slice of pie for when Timon isn't looking."

"No!"

Simba cleared his throat.

"I mean, no thank you."

The larger man shrugged, then returned to his task.

"Food's up!"

As they sat once again at the rickety table, Pumbaa cleared his throat.

"Hey, Timon? I was wondering...I mean, I told you, so I just wanted to know..."

Impatient, Timon grabbed Pumbaa by the cheeks and pulled him down, pressing their noses together.

"What? Spit it out!"

"Well...why are you an Outcast?"

"Oh. Er..."

Simba noticed the fear and sadness present in Timon's eyes as he slowly let go of Pumbaa. Suddenly, he contorted his face into a smirk.

"I left! B-because was tired of working so hard!"

"Wow, that's so brave of you!" Pumbaa gushed.

"Heh, yeah. I was quite the rebel."

Unable to hold Pumbaa's adoring gaze, Timon stared at his plate. He picked at his food for a moment, then stood up.

"I'm going to bed."

"But Timon—"

"Goodnight!"

Pumbaa deflated as his friend slunk away. Simba patted his arm before going after the smaller man.

"Timon!"

"Whaddaya want, kid?" He snapped.

"I wanted you to know: it is fine."

Timon raised a confused eyebrow, so the boy continued.

"It is fine that you do not want to tell us why you are an Outcast now."

Simba bit his lip.

"I...I am not ready to fully explain either, and I am not sure I will ever be ready."

He hesitantly put a hand on Timon's arm.

"Hakuna matata, I suppose."

Timon sniffed, staring at the tiny hand on his wrist. Then, he gave Simba a bittersweet smile.

"Thanks, kid."

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Simba bolted awake, dripping with sweat for the second time that night. After a few deep breathes, he put his head in his hands and sighed; the boy hadn't had a decent sleep since the day his father died, almost a week ago now. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he roughly wiped it away, feeling weak and vulnerable. After several minutes of hesitation, Simba crept out of his own room. Watching carefully for splintered boards, he stole into the room across the hall.

There, snoring away in a beam of moonlight, were Timon and Pumbaa. Simba stopped short. He knew that the pair roomed together, but he didn't realize they were sharing a bed. Yet there they were: Pumbaa with his arm raised, creating a space for Timon, whose head was on his friend's chest.

The scene brought Simba back to when he was just five years old. He had had a nightmare involving Zazu and kumquats, and had run to his parents' bedroom, where he had spent the rest of the night. The boy hadn't dared to try that with Mufasa and Sarabi since, figuring they would think him a coward. But perhaps...

"Timon? Pumbaa?"

The former opened his green eyes.

"Kid? Whazza matter?"

"I, er..." The boy shifted uncomfortably.

"It's not even dawn! Spit it out or let me sleep!" Snapped Timon.

Shamefully, Simba muttered "I had a bad dream."

"Oh...gee, sorry Taka. Uh..." The grumpy expression melted. After staring at the child for a moment, Timon elbowed Pumbaa.

"Huh? Where's the pizza?"

"The kid had a bad dream."

Pumbaa switched from groggy to doting in a flash.

"Aww, you poor little thing! Why don't you sleep over here with us?"

"Really?"

Shifting over, Timon patted the area between him and Pumbaa. Simba gratefully sprung into the bed, snuggling between the two warm bodies. After giving the boy a gentle pat, Pumbaa's head hit the pillow, and he immediately began snoring loudly. Also, Simba could feel one of Timon's bony elbows poking his ribs.

The boy slept more soundly than he had in a long time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Time skiiiiiiip! Thanks again to TheSheep64 for leaving a review! You are so nice!**

 **FYI stuff is going to get queer in these next two chapters...awww yea**

Chapter 9:

"Good mooooorning!"

After a running start, Simba took a flying leap into Timon and Pumbaa's bed.

"Oof! Jeez kid, yer getten' too big for this!"

Simba laughed. Now, at the age of thirteen, he was several inches taller than Timon, much to the man's dismay.

"No, you are just too small!"

Pumbaa sat up with a grin.

"Oh, don't listen to him, Timon! You're the perfect size—all tiny and cute!"

Timon slapped Pumbaa's arm, his cheeks red.

"Don't call me cute!"

"But Timoooon, I can't help it! You're too pretty! Even when your face reminds me of tomato soup, like it does right now!"

Somehow getting even redder, Timon jumped out of bed and stalked away, only looking back to stick his tongue out at the others.

"Hey, Timon! Now you cannot have any cockroach cream pie!"

"Oh shaddup, kid!"

Pumbaa and Simba burst into giggles before following their friend to the kitchen.

After a quick breakfast, the trio went scavenging for extra food and supplies, as per usual. After walking a few miles to the south, they stumbled upon a new village. Oddly enough, it was decently intact. All of the wooden structures had long since rotted, of course, but several stone walls still stood. Once again, all were struck by the wild, rugged beauty of the area as it stood in the early morning light.

"There's got to be some goodies in here! C'mon, let's get busy!"

Splitting off from the others, Timon wandered into what looked like a bedroom. Breaking open a rotted wardrobe, he was met with a rack of beautiful women's clothing. Absentmindedly stroking the exquisite fabrics, he thought out loud.

"I wonder if...maybe..."

Timon walked slowly, minding the splintered floorboards. As he expected, he found a vanity nearby. The mirror was cracked and the wood brittle, but the intricate carvings were still visible. He gently opened the drawer, finding small, shiny, black cases. Popping one open, Timon found a familiar black substance: kohl.

His mind flew back fifteen years, and suddenly, he was a child again, rummaging through his mother's pots of ochre and kohl. She thought it was cute when he pranced out, face smudged with makeup.

Over the years, it became less and less cute, and more and more confusing to her. Sensing this, her son promised to put an end to this habit.

But he couldn't—wouldn't—stop. Timon began sneaking into the cabinet instead, promising himself each night that this time would be the last. When he looked in the small mirror, however, and saw his olive green eyes lined with black, even more piercing than usual due to the contrast, he felt a boost of confidence that he never wanted to lose. This nightly ritual continued for many a year.

Until his uncle walked in one late night, wanting to talk to his mother. In accordance to deeply-rooted tradition, miners considered kohl to be strictly for females. A male who wore the substance violated the rules of their very culture.

And anyone who went against their clan had to leave it.

Timon could still hear the sobs that both he and his mother had let loose as he was stripped of his honor and banished from his clan without a chance of regaining a place in the Pridelands.

Blinking, Timon slowly drew himself from his thoughts, and returned his attention to the makeup case. He picked up a brush in a trembling hand, and almost automatically, dipped in the kohl and brought it to his face.

Timon walked out in a trance, his usual smirk absent and his eyes carefully covered in the black dust. The old feeling of confidence he had so sorely missed had mixed with the bitter memories, and Timon forgot where he was.

"Timon!"

He jolted out of his reverie and slowly turned to face Pumbaa and Simba, filled with fear.

Pumbaa tilted his head curiously.

"Timon? Are you wearing—"

"So what if I am? Is that a crime?! Does that freak you out?!"

Watching the despair-filled outburst, Simba didn't dare to say a word. Pumbaa, on the other hand, looked like he had words on the tip of his tongue. Timon noticed this, too.

"Well?!"

"You look beautiful."

Timon reeled back.

"Wh-what?"

"You look beautiful, Timon."

Seeing the anger and pain drain from the smaller man's eyes at this, Simba nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Well...gee, thanks guys."

As they began the trek back to their home, Timon's kohl-coated eyes felt the sunlight for the first time, and he smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: once again, TheSheep64 has spoiled me by leaving a lovely review—thank you so much! Also, thanks to JustPassingBy!**

 **Ugh, I get so embarrassed writing romance…**

Chapter 10:

As the setting sun created beautiful reds and oranges in the sky, it also sent a message to diurnal creatures of the forest that it was time to go home.

"Whew, what a haul!" said Simba, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"What a stench! Ya better take a bath before my nostrils burn, kid!"

"That is what you get for making me do all of the grunt work."

With a chuckle, Simba strode off in the direction of the spring they used for bathing.

"Might as well get dinner started, big guy. We can keep a plate warm for the kid."

Minutes later, Timon and Pumbaa sat outside, a hefty plate of spaghetti and worms between them.

"It's been awhile since we've eaten alone, huh Timon?"

"Heh, I guess so. It's been cool havin' the kid around, though."

"Of course! Gee, I can't believe we've all been together for four years now."

Pumbaa sniffed, thinking of how the nervous nine-year-old they had taken in had grown and matured into a confident young man. The rambunctious giant's voice became unusually soft.

"You know, I had always wanted to be a parent, but when I was banished, I thought...I thought I would never have that chance. I'm so glad we have Taka now."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Aren't you glad, Timon?"

"Oh, of course! I just..."

He thought about all of the times the kid had slept in their bed when he was young, all of the times they had hugged, all of the times they had laughed together.

"I never thought of it that way."

Timon chuckled, prompting a questioning look from Pumbaa.

"I guess I never thought of myself of the type of guy to raise a kid. Heck, I never even expected I'd settle down—"

Suddenly realizing the implication of his words, he cut himself off. There was an awkward pause, eventually broken by Timon clearing his throat.

"Great wormy spaghetti ya made, buddy."

"Thanks."

As they dug into their meal, neither could help but stare at the sky; nightfall had painted the sky an inky black and studded it with diamonds. The full moon sat on the tree tops, as if one could simply shimmy up a trunk and grab it out of the sky.

So engrossed were they, neither Timon nor Pumbaa realized they each had one end of the same worm in their mouths. Still looking upward, they sucked opposite ends of the worm into their mouths, inching closer and closer together. Simultaneously, Timon felt something warm and soft against his mouth, and Pumbaa found he was seeing olive green instead of sparkling black. Neither reacted for a blissfully long moment, enjoying the new sensations without realizing what had transpired.

Finally, reality reared its ugly head.

"What the?!"

"Oh crap, I'm really sorry!"

The two sprang apart, eyes wide and cheeks hot.

"I didn't mean to—gosh, I'm sorry, Timon!"

The smaller man didn't respond until he had taken a few deep breathes.

"It's fine, big fella. Just an accident, that's all."

"Right, right..."

Pumbaa purposefully refocused his attention on the sky, food forgotten. A silence hung between them like a wall while Pumbaa gathered the courage to speak.

"I was talking to Taka the other day."

He cautiously glanced at his companion.

"Yeah?"

"Yep. He told me that his clan thought the stars were actually rulers of the past."

Timon managed to meet Pumbaa's gaze as the larger man continued.

"He said that they guide our actions from the sky. That...that there's no such thing as coincidences or accidents."

Another heavy silence settled between them, but this time, Timon was the first to break it.

"That's kinda creepy."

They chuckled, some of the awkwardness fading. After a quiet moment—not so much awkward as companionable—Pumbaa returned his gaze to the sky.

And Timon wrapped his slender fingers around his friend's calloused palm, Pumbaa could swear the stars twinkled just a bit brighter.

 **A/N: I just had to include the worm kiss from "The Lion King 1 1/2!" I regret nothing! XD**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks again, TheSheep64 and Geschichtensammler! Your reviews have really helped motivate me to get writing again, even though real life keeps getting in my way!** **  
** **Once again, time skiiiiip!** **  
**

Chapter 11:

Nala took a deep breath, forcing herself to unclench her fists. If she couldn't keep her temper under control, she knew the king would inflict one of his infamously harsh punishments on her—or worse, on her mother. Deeming herself adequately calm, Nala marched into the throne room. As she looked around, she couldn't help but sigh; the once bright and regal decorations were shredded and covered in dirt, and the throne had been stripped of its jewels. Nala laughed bitterly. It was fitting in a way: a decrepit throne for a demented king.

"Ah, Miss Nala! Have you come to reconsider my proposal?"

The slimy grin on Scar's face made her blood boil. She managed to swallow the barrage of insults on the tip of her tongue, and instead uttered a single syllable:

"No."

"Come now, this teasing must end. Think of it, Nala!"

He rose and moved toward her—much too close for Nala to feel comfortable.

"Think of the power! With just a word, any subject you choose will face months of torture. The lives and deaths of every peasant in the kingdom will be in your hands."

Scar snaked an arm around her hips.

"You could even protect your mother."

Resisting the urge to smack the lecherous grin off of his face, Nala stepped back and cleared her throat.

"Actually, I am here to deliver a message from the hunting party...Your Highness."

With a dramatic sigh, Scar returned to the throne.

"Well?"

"Your new allies, the Looters, have been too demanding. We have been forced to severely deplete the herds in order to meet their demands. Additionally, they harass us daily, often taking our own portions for themselves."

Not even looking at her, Scar yawned.

"Well, that is the price one must pay for good protection, Nala. Our alliance with the Looters must remain—you should be honored and thankful that they are here."

Nala's cheeks flared.

"There is not enough food, Scar! Your people are starving while the criminals grow fat!"

"How dare you address me as such?! You will refer to me as 'Your Highness!' Guards, make her leave my presence!"

Two Looters seized Nala with their grubby hands and began dragging her out. She slapped them away and walked out of the throne room herself, head held high. As soon as she was out of the palace, however, her shoulders slumped.

"Nala?"

Sarafina took one look at her daughter's forlorn features and enveloped her in a hug.

"Try not to be disappointed, sweetie. You did your best."

"I am not disappointed—I am furious!"

Her cheeks flushed with anger as she turned to face the palace.

"Scar had destroyed all that we worked so hard to achieve! He claims that we are safer with the Looters on our land and in our houses—has he forgotten that he fought these people? That they killed his brother and nephew in the fight?"

"Nala—"

"Mufasa never would have let these criminals into our land!"

"Hush, Nala!"

Sarafina gripped her daughter's shoulder firmly, using her head to gesture toward a shadow in the alley. Each women held her breath as the figure drew nearer.

"There is no need to censor your own words. I will not betray you."

A regal woman stepped out of the darkness, and Sarafina gasped.

"Sarabi!"

The ghost of a smile appeared on the former queen's face as she received her friend's embrace.

"I have missed you more than I can say, Sarafina. You as well, Nala."

Nala reached out and gripped Sarabi's hand tightly.

"It is a pleasure to see you again. If I may ask, however, what are you doing here? I thought you were still in prison."

A storm appeared in Sarabi's eyes.

"Even a dictator cannot keep his sister-in-law under lock and key for long without the subjects questioning his sense of honor. Scar's public image is already shaky, what with..."

She choked back a sob.

"With his lack of respect for his own dead family."

A look of sympathy on her face, Sarafina wrapped an arm around her friend and began leading her back to the hunting team's compound. Nala followed, resisting the urge to look back at the palace that used to hold so many happy memories.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Here comes the plot…**

 **As usual, a shout out to TheSheep64 and Geschichtensammler! I can't thank you enough for your support!**

Chapter 12:

As they walked, Nala noticed that all of the former queen's subjects cast their eyes down when she passed, as if even acknowledging Sarabi would bring Scar's wrath. Nala seethed at the disrespect, but forced herself to control her temper; Scar was the one to blame, not these tortured civilians.

She sighed quietly, and was trying to hurry the others along when the three were startled by a loud "crash!" Their heads whipped around.

A short, middle-aged woman with fiery hair had collapsed under the weight of her pack, spilling the contents everywhere—including by a scowling Looter's feet.

"Hey, get this crap out of my way!"

The woman, gasping, attempted to stand only to buckle under her own weight.

"Well?!"

The Looter took a whip from his belt, and raised it to strike the exhausted woman. Sarabi rushed forward as the whip swished through the air. Nala and Sarafina cringed, waiting for the inevitable "CRACK."

It never came.

Mother and daughter opened their eyes to see Sarabi standing tall in front of the woman, the end of the Looter's whip firmly grasped in her hand.

"This is rather shameful behavior from a supposed ally of our people."

Recovering quickly from shock, the Looter scowled.

"This is none of your business, lady!"

Sarabi maintained her intense gaze and chilly demeanor.

"Oh, but the mistreatment of innocents is my business. You seemed to have failed to comprehend the fact that I am a Royal."

The Looter's eyes widened slightly, but he made no move to back off. Neither did Sarabi.

"I may no longer be queen, but I am still a Royal, and unlike others in my clan, I fully intend to protect my people."

"But—"

"Perhaps you did not hear me."

In one smooth movement, she tossed her end of the whip around his shoulders, wrapping the leather strip around his neck. Before the Looter could react, Sarabi had snatched up both ends and pulled.

"I fully intend to protect my people...by any means necessary."

He gasped and clawed pathetically at his throat until Sarabi finally relaxed her grip. Coughing, the Looter stumbled back and retreated, tail between his legs. As soon as the criminal had left her line of sight, Sarabi turned to the woman behind her. Shock dissipating, Nala and Sarafina came forward and knelt by the woman's side as well.

"Are you hurt?"

The wide-eyed redhead simply stared for a moment. Suddenly, she sprung unsteadily to her feet and attempted to curtsy.

"Yer Highnesses! I—woaaah!"

Nala and Sarabi managed to catch her before she collapsed again.

"Do not try to stand so quickly! You are overheated!"

Sarafina took a flask from her side and it offered the woman, who gratefully drank the cool water.

"Thank you, Yer Highnesses."

A sad smile appeared on Sarabi's face.

"You should not address us as such—King Scar might suspect you of treason."

"Well, to me, it'd be treasonous not to! That king of ours can shove his overblown ego up his—"

The woman stopped short, surprised at her own outburst.

"Oh geez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Sarabi held up a hand.

"No one should ever have to apologize for speaking their mind. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Er...Nuri. I'm a miner."

"If I may ask, Ms. Nuri, why do you resent King Scar so?"

The redhead's eyebrows shot up.

"Ya...ya really want to know?"

All three royals nodded.

"Well...I feel like a ruler needs to respect their people as much as the people respect them, ya know? I got that with ya and King Mufasa, Yer Highness."

Sarabi blinked back a tear.

"Thank you for saying so."

"Well it's true! Ya cared about us miners by the Northern border!

Nuri sighed miserably.

"We're attacked by Looters almost daily now."

The four women were silent for a moment, lamenting how the low the kingdom had fallen. Finally, Nala rose and looked Nuri in the eyes.

"Too many people are afraid to speak out against injustice today. Thank you for your honesty."

Having recovered, Nuri finally managed to execute a steady curtsy. She shouldered her pack and made to leave, but hesitated.

"Is...is there anything I can do for ya, Yer Highnesses? To return the favor?"

Sarafina and Nala looked to Sarabi, who shook her head slowly.

"I appreciate the offer, but my wishes are unobtainable."

Nuri bowed her head in sympathy.

"I get it. I had a husband and a little boy once, too."

She resumed walking; the royals had started for the other direction when Nuri froze and called out.

"Wait, Yer Highness? I-I don't know if this is helpful, and I don't like spreadin' rumors..."

Sarabi turned back.

"Yes?"

"Well, I overhead a couple of Looters talkin' a few days back. One of 'em had headed to the Badlands to scrounge for stuff, but ran into some Outcasts and had to give up."

Nuri took a deep breath.

"Again, not sure if this is true—it's not like those Looters are too trustworthy. But by the way they were describin' 'em, it sounded like...like one of those Outcasts was a royal."

The other women waited for Sarabi to reply, but she simply stood, too shocked to say a word. Finally, Sarafina spoke up.

"Well, thank you for informing us."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks for all yer help, Yer Highnesses."

With one more backwards glance, Nuri trudged away.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Geschichtensammler, you are a very good guesser! To answer your question, Sarabi doesn't have much real political power, but she's so well known and liked that she still has some sway. Also, she kicks butt—right TheSheep64?! XD**

Chapter 13:

Sarabi shifted restlessly on the makeshift bed. Opening her eyes, she glanced out the window only to see stars. She groaned and turned over once more.

"Sarabi?"

Startled, Sarabi turned to see Sarafina, wide awake and sitting up on her pallet.

"I could not sleep either. Come, let us go where we can talk."

The two women crept outside and sat on the stoop of the compound. Several minutes passed before either had the courage to break the early morning silence.

"I imagine that you are considering what Nuri said."

Sarabi nodded slowly.

"It is foolish to hope, I know...

She heaved a heavy sigh.

"But I am unable to snuff out the spark."

"I do not want to see your heart break again, Sarabi."

Sarafina spoke kindly, but firmly; her companion sighed once more.

"Even so, it is possible that one of our own is stranded in the Badlands. Is it not our duty to attempt a rescue?"

"We cannot! Outcasts are dangerous!"

"Yes, but—"

Sarafina held up a hand to silence her friend.

"Sarabi...even if we manage to cross the Badlands, even if the Outcasts we found are somehow peaceful, there would still be danger. Scar would be angry that you broke his laws again."

She gripped the former queen's shoulder with a shaky hand.

"He would kill you."

Seeing the fear in her friend's eyes, Sarabi wrapped Sarafina in a warm embrace.

"I trust your judgement—I will not go."

As the two stood up, a figure retreated into the shadows. Once they had returned inside, Nala stepped into the moonlight.

"But I can get away. Scar will grant me leave if I can bear pretending to love him..."

She held her head high.

"I can feel you out there. You have been in my heart since we were children, and you broke it when you left us. It is time to repair our bond and our hearts."

Nala's eyes glimmered in the starlight.

"I will find you, Simba. I promise."

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Pumbaa lumbered through the bushes, merry despite the burden on his back.

"How ya holdin' up there, Pumbaa?"

Already smiling, Pumbaa turned to see Timon swatting at a low branch.

"Oh, I'm just wonderful!"

The redhead raised an eyebrow.

"Ya do realize yer' carrying twenny-two cans, right?"

"Yep!"

Pumbaa smiled widely, maintaining the expression for far longer than Timon found comfortable.

"Ya...ya planin' on losin' that grin anytime soon?"

"Nope!"

Timon heaved an exaggerated sigh as he fell into step with his companion.

"Yer' such a mook."

"Love you too."

The smaller man roller his eyes, but the effect was diminished by his fond grin.

"Hey, I'm gonna go find Taka and tell him we're done for now—it's gettin' too hot to be out here much longer."

"Sounds good. I'll have lunch ready for when you two get home!"

With that, Pumbaa continued on his way, blundering through the greenery. He had finally broken a sweat by the time he reached the familiar clearing, but not even that could damped his spirit.

Pumbaa began unloading the cargo, humming to himself. All of a sudden, he cut the tune short; there was a prickly feeling on the back of his neck, like he was being watched.

"Hello?"

Only the sounds of the jungle answered his call.

"Timon? Taka?"

He heard a strange, out-of-place rustling in his left ear, and whipped his head around.

"Guys? This—this isn't funny!"

The noise got closer and closer. Pumbaa stumbled backward, still unable to see anything.

"Get away from me!"

The rustling stopped. Pumbaa could hear nothing but his pounding heartbeat.

"Move one finger, and I will cut it off."

"AAUUGH!"

Pumbaa threw a wild punch at the voice by his ear, but his fist met nothing but air. A blow to his diaphragm left him wheezing in the dirt.

"Let us try this again..."

Clutching his gut, Pumbaa looked up at his assailant: a lean, scarred, and angry Royal.

"Tell me what I want to know, and you may make it out of this intact."

"Wh-what are y—"

"Quiet!"

With a flick of her wrist, she whipped a blade from her sleeve and had it positioned against his throat.

"You will speak only when spoken to. Is that clear?"

Too afraid to speak, Pumbaa only gulped.

"Is that clear?!"

He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a high pitched battle cry:

"YAAAAAAAAAAH!"

His limbs a blur, Timon swooped toward the assailant, only to be smacked into the dirt. The Royal made to strike again, but hesitated. She had been told that Outcasts were dishonorable, and yet here was one risking his life for another...

The redhead raised his head off the ground, and was greeted by a blade between his eyes; confused or not, she was not about to let her guard down.

"Perhaps you will talk. Where is—"

"Taka!"

Before she could even turn her head, the assailant was herself attacked; a harsh strike to her arm made her knife go flying out of her hand. She growled, and launched a backward kick toward her opponent's legs. He fell forward, pinning her underneath. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, she flipped them both, putting her on top.

As she raised her hand to deliver a blow, one word made her stop short:

"Nala?"

For the first time, Nala froze and got a good look at her opponent. He had hair the color of a blood moon, dark skin, and tall, lean build—a combination only found in Royals. What really caught her attention, however, were his features: the firm jawline, the sparkling mahogany eyes, the lips that looked so ready to form a mischievous grin...

The name slipped from her tongue—not as a question, but as fact confirmed by the pounding of her heart.

"Simba."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: TheSheep64, I apologize for worrying you; the end of the semester was packed. Now that I'm off from school, I should be able to update more frequently. Geschichtensammler, I'm glad you like Timon's dialogue! He's fun to write.  
**  
Chapter 14

"Gods, it really is you! Nala!"

He sprung to his feet and flung his arms around his old friend.

She flushed, unable to contain the affection rushing through her.

"I knew you were alive. Oh Simba, I missed you so much."

The two remained in their embrace, holding each other tightly as if to assure themselves it was real, until a reedy voice interrupted.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up!"

Timon worked his way between the pair and broke up the hug.

"I don't know what's goin' on, but I know I don't like it!"

"Calm down! This is Nala—she's a friend."

Hands on his hips, Timon shot Simba a skeptical look.

"Yeah, ok, sure...then why is this Royal nutjob trying to KILL US?!"

Nala stepped forward, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, what are you Outcasts doing in his presence?"

"For yer information, he's as much an Outcast as we are!"

"How dare you suggest such a thing! He would never allow himself to be dishonored like that!"

"Shaddup with that 'honor' crap!"

Nala was seething.

"A sense of honor keeps the clans motivated and our society balanced—"

"Yeah, and know what else it does?! It makes people like ya think they're better than everybody else!"

Simba's heart smashed against his chest, creating cracks right down the middle. The sharp command that tore from his throat surprised even him.

"Quiet! Both of you!"

Timon and Nala's argument cut off immediately; even the birds and insects fell silent. Simba took a deep breath as the echo of his command faded.

"Look, I know this is confusing, but that doesn't excuse such harsh words. Now, as I was saying..."

He placed a gentle hand on Nala's shoulder.

"Guys, this is Nala, an old friend of mine. Nala, this is Timon, and that's Pumbaa. They've been taking care of me all these years."

Nala shot Simba a skeptical look, but nodded at the duo all the same.

"If you say they are not dangerous, I believe you. But Simba, why—"

"Who's Simba?"

Nala stared blankly at Pumbaa.

"You honestly do not know...?"

She turned her attention to Simba, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Ya know, that name rings a bell...yeah! That was the prince who was born awhile back, before I was banished."

Timon scratched his head.

"But what's that gotta do with..."

His eyes suddenly widened.

"No way."

Simba hung his head. Pumbaa looked even more baffled.

"What's he talking about, Taka?"

"I-I'm sorry, guys, but it's true."

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if it pained him to even say the name.

"I am Simba."

Taking advantage of the silence, Nala amended Simba's statement.

"Prince Simba; the rightful king of the Pridelands!"

"No!"

She drew back, stunned by the objection.

"No. Nala, I may have been the heir, to the throne, but that's—that's behind me. I'm an Outcast, just like they said."

Nala's mouth dropped open for a moment, but she quickly snapped it shut.

"We need to talk."

"Wha—"

"Come with me. I need to tell you what is happening in the Pridelands."

She took his arm. Simba gave Timon and Pumbaa an apologetic look, then allowed himself to be led away. The duo were left in a silent stupor, just staring as the youth they had cared for was lead away. After several tense moments, Pumbaa finally shattered the empty air.

"Wh-what just happened?"

Something inside Timon broke.

"I'll tell ya what happened! That—that gonif just ran off with our kid!"

He plopped down on a rock, running his hands through his spiky red hair.

"I can't believe it..."

After a moment, Pumbaa joined his partner.

"So, Taka isn't Taka? He's... Simba?"

"Yeah, pal. He's a freakin' prince. And now he's gonna go back to the Pridelands and start spoutin' 'honor' garbage like a real Royal!"

Pumbaa put a beefy arm around Timon. His silence invited the redhead to continue.

"We raised that kid...and now he's just going to turn his back on us like everyone else."

"You don't know that, Timon. Taka—er, Simba—is family."

"Yeah, and look where trustin' family has gotten us before!

His voice cracked.

"Kicked out of our clans, that's where."

Pumbaa pulled his lover closer, and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I know you miss your Ma, Timon. You wanted her love and support, even when you had to leave, and it hurt when you didn't get it. I felt the same way when I was banished."

Timon choked back a sob, but said nothing. Pumbaa hugged him a little tighter as he continued.

"And that's why we have to show Simba love and support now no matter what he decides to do: so won't feel the same pain we did."

After a pregnant pause, Timon finally raised his head, streaks of kohl staining his cheeks. Pumbaa stared down, his dark eyes soft.

"Will you stand behind him?"

Timon wiped his face roughly and gave Pumbaa a bittersweet smile.

"Yeah. No matter what."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: As usual, a shout-out to those who reviewed—thanks so much for sticking with me! Also, no offense Guest, but I don't get what you mean...I know the fic isn't done. That's why it's marked as incomplete.** **  
**

Chapter 15

Meanwhile, Simba and Nala spoke on a boulder by the crystal stream; the calm of their environment was dissonant with the pain in their words.

"...and the Looters are constantly harassing us. It is a disaster!"

"I understand, but I can't help you."

"Cannot, or will not?"

Simba looked away, unable to reply. He didn't want to believe that his beloved home had fallen into such a state, but the proof was right in front of him: Nala's face and shoulders were riddled with scars, and she looked far too thin. Be that as it may, Simba couldn't help noticing that there was a fierce beauty about her, like a that of a graceful—yet dangerous—predator.

"Nala, please listen—"

"No, you listen to me!"

She took a deep breath, attempting to push aside her frustration.

"Scar is killing the Pridelands, Simba. You need to come back and claim the throne before he destroys everything your ancestors worked so hard to build."

"You don't understand! I can't rule!"

Simba turned away to hide his misty brown eyes.

"I deserve dishonor...it was my weakness that caused Mufasa's death."

He began to choke on his own words.

"Scar may not be as effective a ruler, but at least he isn't a coward."

Nala felt a stabbing pain in her chest. She had spent so many years agonizing over the disappearance of her friend, and he had become a tragic hero in her head; trapped by Outcasts, waiting for a chance to escape and claim his throne. It had never occurred to her that Simba might not want to come back—that he, perhaps, shouldn't come back.

Several long moments of silence passed. Eventually, Simba rose to leave.

"Simba, wait."

He stopped walking, but did not respond.

"Simba...your true name. It was given to you because of your lion heart. Your motivation for bravery comes not from pride, but from love."

Nala took in a shaky breath.

"You are not willing to take the throne just for the sake of being king, for the sake being in your rightful place—I understand."

She put a hand on his cheek, compelling him to meet her eyes.

"But would you be willing to return for your mother? For your people?"

Nala's voice fell to a whisper.

"For me?"

Simba felt the hand on his cheek tremble; it scared him.

"Nala, what aren't you telling me?"

She took a deep breath, exhaustion and worry finally showing on her face.

"Scar...he wants to marry me. If I do not comply, my mother..."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she struggled to regain her composure.

"He will kill her."

Nala began to rub roughly at her eyes, but Simba took hold of her hand.

"Let it out, Nala. I won't think any less of you."

She stared at their joined hands for a moment, then finally let her tears fall. Simba felt a pain in his heart as he watched his friend. Then, the pain turned to determination.

"Nala, I cannot take the throne for myself...but I realize that I cannot allow Scar to continue hurting you, or anyone else."

She looked up, her face expressing a combination of confusion and hope.

"I will help you dethrone him—no matter the cost."

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After she had calmed down, Nala returned to the clearing; Simba, needing a few minutes alone, had remained behind.

"Hello Nala!"

She spun quickly, her hands going to her weapons. The other Outcasts flinched.

"Oh, it is you."

Nala exhaled, and let her arms fall to her sides.

"My apologies. I have been somewhat tense as of late."

"Hmph, no kidding."

Pumbaa shot Timon a look before turning back to Nala.

"So, er...how did things go with Simba?"

Choosing her words carefully, Nala replied.

"He has chosen to return, and dethrone Scar...just to help the people of the Pridelands."

A proud look appeared on Pumbaa's face, and he nudged his partner. Timon sighed.

"Well, if he's goin', so are we. I know ya don't 'approve' of us, but—"

"Thank you."

Timon's mouth fell open slightly, but when he failed to speak up, Nala decided to elaborate.

"We may have differing values, but Simba will need all of the assistance he can find. It is honora—it is kind of you to stand with him, and with me."

Suddenly, Simba rejoined the three. Timon and Pumbaa glanced at Nala, then at each other. To both Royals' surprise, they bowed.

"Not sure if ya heard, kid, but yer goin' to have some backup on this quest of yers."

Simba stared at the men for a moment before wrapping both in a hug.

"Th-thank you. This means so much."

He stepped back to looked at his team, and task at hand seemed a bit less daunting than before.

"Let's do this. Let's take back the Pridelands."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thanks for the review, TheSheep64! As usual, it made me laugh! Also, Geschichtensammler, there's likely only two more chapters after this one, plus maybe an epilogue if chapter 18, which is still in progress, starts getting too long. We're coming down the home stretch! Finally, I'm glad to hear from you, All Hail King Scar! Enjoy!**

Chapter 16

"Where is she?!"

Scar stomped through the throne room, his hair and eyes wild. He whirled on Sarafina, who, despite being restrained by four Looters, remained expressionless.

"Why do you not know? You are the one who granted her leave to hunt outside the Pridelands."

"For one day only! She has been gone for three!"

Even with the deranged man in her face, Sarafina still didn't flinch; her lack of reaction just made him angrier, and he stomped back to the throne. In one swift movement, Scar had swept an urn, one of the few remaining ornaments in the throne room, off of the shelf, letting it shatter on the floor. Not yet satisfied, he began crushing the bigger shards under his boot.

Through Scar's tantrum, Sarafina remained quiet. Only those closest to her could have seen the great worry hiding behind her stoic features. For the fourth time in the last hour, she began to mouth a prayer for her missing daughter. A scream from across the room interrupted her mumbling.

"I know you are hiding her from me! I know you are denying me of what is mine! Guards!"

Before Sarafina could move, the Looters swarmed around her.

"Take her to the maximum security cell! She can rot until my bride-to-be returns..."

Scar wore a terrifying grin.

"And can be executed on our wedding day."

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The day's last gleams of sunlight shone four cloaked figures as they ran across the rocky terrain.

"Whew! Are—are we gettin' close?"

The group halted, the three men panting for breath. Barely even winded, Nala scaled a nearby boulder and scanned the horizon for the outlines of buildings.

"We do not have much farther to go. The question is, what will we do once we arrive?"

"Do you think that the city will be that well-guarded?"

Nala's expression was grim.

"Sneaking through the border should not be too challenging—what worries me is the palace."

Simba rubbed her shoulder gently, attempting to soothe the anxiety he felt radiating from her. She sighed, turned back toward the Pridelands and began walking again, Simba close behind. Timon and Pumbaa scrambled to their feet.

"Geez, slow down! Not all of us got four meter legs, ya know!"

Nightfall soon cast a blanket of silence over even Timon as they approached the border fence. Motioning for the others to keep watch, Nala began scraping the cement away from a boulder in the wall. She tried tugging it out, but was promptly shooed away by Pumbaa. With a muffled grunt, he eased the rock from the wall. After a moment's hesitation, Nala nodded her thanks, and maneuvered through the hole to the other side. After seeing Timon and Pumbaa through, Simba took a deep breath and reentered his homeland.

And he immediately froze.

Gone were the clean streets and cozy homes of his childhood. Every low window that he had remembered as holding candles and lanterns was boarded up, and some were even covered in barbed wire. Half of the homes had charred roofs, and the rest were covered in scorch marks. Even the shadows from the moonlight seemed menacing, as if they might become corporal and attack at any moment.

Simba felt a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. He turned to see Nala; while her expression was sympathetic, she didn't speak.

After all, what comforting word could she offer?

He took a few deep breaths, steeled himself, and continued to follow Nala and the others deeper into the heart of the Pridelands. Eventually, they came to the palace walls. They dismissed the front gate outright, as there were at least twenty Looters stationed outside. Simba could vaguely remember that the kitchen had a separate entrance in the back, and beckoned the group around the corner. Sure enough, there were only four Looters milling around the backdoor. Simba took a deep breath.

"It's four against four. This is doable."

"True, but they can call for backup—we cannot."

Timon piped up, his shrill voice making the others jump.

"I'm thinkin' that what we need here's a distraction. Someone to really...attract their attention, ya know what I'm sayin'?"

Nala spluttered.

"If you think that I would degrade myself as a means of distraction—"

"Pfft, who was talkin' about ya?"

With a wink, he rounded the corner and strolled up to the Looters, swinging his hips.

"Hey, fellers..."

He shot the four Looters a sultry look, simultaneously scrutinizing the reaction of each. While two were raising their weapons in suspicion, the other two seemed transfixed. With a triumphant smirk, Timon sidled between the Looters that seemed interested in him.

"Been a long night? Ya look tired."

He began sensually rubbing their shoulders. The other two Looters started to raise their weapons, but they were quickly reprimanded.

"Ah, come off it! Just 'cause you two don't swing that way doesn't mean we can't have some fun."

Timon flashed another handsome grin and struck a pose.

"So, I take it ya think I'm good-lookin'."

The Looters ogled him and nodded vigorously.

"Would ya even say...I'm a knockout?"

Pumbaa suddenly appeared behind the two Looters, grabbed each by the shirt, and slammed their heads together. The remaining Looters raised their weapons, but met the same fate as the others before they could even call out.

"Nice work, ya big lug."

After giving his partner a quick peck on the cheek, Timon waved a grinning Simba and a gaping Nala over to the backdoor of the palace.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Glad you liked the "hula scene," Geschichtensammler! I giggled far too much while writing that.**

Chapter 17

"So we're in. What's the plan?"

Simba hesitated, forcing the others to stop short behind him.

"To be honest, I don't really have one..."

"Gee, that's comfortin'."

Nala stepped in front of the group.

"I worry that Scar might use innocent civilians as leverage against us if we try to face him now. We must find the dungeons."

"Woah, woah, whoa...this place has _dungeons_?"

Nala nodded gravely, and Simba found himself unable to speak. To think that Scar had so corrupted the palace, his childhood home, was nauseating.

"Hey Simba, you ok?"

Simba snapped out of his thoughts to find the others staring at him in worry. He took a deep breath.

"Yes, yes. Let's keep going."

The four creeped carefully through the dim passages of the palace, making their way down. Nala strode ahead, causing the others to scramble to keep up. By the time the three stragglers had arrived at the dungeon, she had already taken care of both guards, and was frantically glancing in every cell. Simba jogged over to her.

"Nala? Is something wrong?"

She stopped short, trembling slightly.

"She is not here."

"What? Who—"

"My mother! She is not here!"

Simba placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Nala, it's ok. It's ok. Maybe Scar just doesn't have her."

"No!"

She took a deep breath, attempting to compose herself.

"No, I am certain that he has her. I was not supposed to be gone nearly this long—he must be livid. Scar had previously threatened to torture her if I did not cooperate...but if she is not here—"

"Then you must find her."

Nala's brow furrowed as Simba turned to address Timon and Pumbaa.

"And you two: take the guard's keys and free those imprisoned here."

Their eyes widened, but before either could say a word, Nala spoke up.

"Simba, will you not need our assistance?"

"I gotta side with her, kid. I don't feel good about lettin' ya go it alone."

He didn't reply, staring at his reflection in a metal panel. Just as the others were about to question him again, Simba finally spoke.

"Years ago, I made a foolish mistake, and my father paid the ultimate price. Scar convinced me to leave the Pridelands, and I ran like a coward. It is time for me to face my guilt—and for Scar, who dared to dishonor my father's memory, to face his."

Simba smirked despite himself.

"And what better way to scare him than to confront him with the spitting image of Mufasa?"

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"Scar!"

Sarabi stormed into the throne room furiously. The villain in question opened one eye, but did not bother rising from his relaxed position on the throne. Undeterred, Sarabi began her rant.

"How dare you hold Sarafina without cause?! Our laws require there to be a reason listed for any arrest, and you have none. You have no right to keep her here!"

"You forget your place, dear Sarabi..."

He stood slowly, a maniacal grin spreading across his face; Sarabi didn't react, but a figure crouching in the shadows couldn't help but shudder.

"I have the power to execute anyone with but one word. I can set the Looters' chaotic destruction on whatever region I choose. The Pridelands are at my mercy."

Scar crept closer to Sarabi and condescendingly put his hand on her cheek.

"I am the king, dear sister."

Unable to contain her contempt, Sarabi slapped his hand away.

"Mufasa would have never allowed the Pridelands to fall into this state—"

He struck her, the sound echoing through the chamber. As Sarabi picked herself up off the ground, Scar raised his fist again.

"You dare to speak that name in my presence?! I am ten times the king Mufasa was!"

"Is that so?"

All heads turned toward a figure draped in shadows. Scar could barely make out the long, auburn locks and well-defined muscles, but he could clearly a set of piercing dark eyes glaring in his direction.

"Who—no. No, no, it cannot be!"

Sarabi's breath caught in her throat as the mysterious man raised his voice.

"It is time for your reign of shame to end, Scar. As rightful heir, I hereby dismiss you from the throne."

He finally stepped into the light; Scar's look of fear changed to suspicion, then to a smug smile.

"Why, my dear nephew!"

Sarabi felt her eyes water, but was too shocked to brush the tears away.

"S-Simba?"

Simba's eyes lost their coldness for a moment as he flashed a gentle grin at his mother. He stepped forward and took her hand to steady her. He then turned his dark gaze back to Scar, who shuddered.

"Scar, you are not deserving of the throne nor a competent ruler. Step down now, or I will remove you by force."

"Is that so?"

He snapped his fingers, and the Looters in the room scurried to his side.

"I have an army behind me. Who here supports you?"

Simba didn't react externally, making Scar's face slip into a scowl.

"Answer me, boy! You know as well as I do that a king is nothing without subjects. Who calls you king?"

"We do!"

Both men whipped their heads around to see Timon, Pumbaa, Nala, and Sarafina standing in front of a mob of angry prisoners. Sarabi, her eyes filled with pride for her people, stepped to the front of the crowd. Grinning, the four moved aside to accommodate her, and the whole mob's eagerness increased.

Scar felt the mood of his own army shift toward anxiety, and gritted his teeth.

"That matters not—you will never take the throne from me. Simba, I challenge you to a duel!"


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, Geschichtensammler, TheSheep64 and All Hail King Scar! Now, IT'S TIME TO D-D-D-D-D-D-DUEL!**

Chapter 18

Simba was stunned. He had been counting on scaring off Scar with his appearance alone; with so little training in physical combat and years without practice, he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Take this."

He turned to see Nala, a blade in her outstretched hand. Their eyes met, and Nala lowered her voice.

"I know that you think you are weak, but have hope. Scar is decrepit and insane—you can beat him."

Her face turned grim.

"You must beat him."

Slowly, Simba wrapped his fingers around the handle and lifted the blade from her hands. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Scar and assumed a fighting stance. Scar's face twisted into a cruel grin.

"Son of Mufasa, let us see what you can do!"

He lunged; Simba just barely managed to deflect the blade aimed at his chest. He aimed an attack toward Scar, but hesitated just a second too long, giving him time to block Simba and launch a counterattack. Scar's blade grazed his shoulder, and Simba cried out. Scar laughed manically.

"Ha! Attack me properly, you coward!"

Gritting his teeth, Simba charged at his opponent, but once again, hesitated to slash at Scar. He paid for his mistake with another gash on his arm.

"You have not changed a bit after all these years, have you? Still too fearful to act under pressure. One would think you would have learned, considering that your cowardly inaction is what killed Mufasa!"

Simba couldn't breathe. He swore that he felt the stares of the crowd on his back, that they were gazing at him with contempt. Contempt that he rightfully deserved. It might as well be his fault that the Pridelands had fallen under Scar's rule. His shoulders sagged, and his knees trembled, threatening to give out completely.

 _No._

Simba started, hearing the familiar deep voice echo in his head.

"Father...?"

 _Remember who you are._

"I...I am Simba."

 _You are my son._

"I am the king of the people."

 _And king for the people._

"I have a lion's heart."

 _And you will win this fight!_

With a strength he had long kept buried, Simba straightened up and tightened his grip on the blade. Scar's eyes widened, but quickly narrowed. He made to lunge again, but Simba aimed a swift jab at his side. It did not hit flesh, but was enough to throw Scar's attack off.

Without giving the tyrant a chance to regain his balance, Simba simultaneously sliced at his hand and kicked at his feet. Scar didn't even have time to hiss in pain before he hit the floor. In one smooth movement, Simba took up his opponent's weapon and positioned both it and his own at Scar's throat.

"Well?"

Scar stared up at Simba. Still panting from exertion, Simba met his gaze. After a moment, he closed his eyes, let his hands drop to his sides, and wordlessly turned away.

"Ha! I knew you could not do it! Looters, take him down!"

Despite their leader's words, not one of the Looters moved. Scar was aghast.

"What are you waiting for, you incompetent fools?!"

"You lost."

Scar was too taken aback to reply as more and more members of his army began shouting.

"We're the incompetent ones?!"

"Yeah, that's rich comin' from the guy on the floor!"

"He said Mufasa's line was dead—was else do you reckon he messed up?"

"I'll bet he ain't even gonna be able to keep up his end of the bargain!"

The mob rushed forward, surrounding their former king.

"How dare you! I am your ruler! I—"

Scar fell silent at the sight of Shenzi's boot above his face. Her face was contorted in disgust.

"Long live the king."

Her foot came down with a sickening splat, and it was over. The room was a silent tomb.

"My son..."

Her words and footsteps broke the deathly atmosphere as Sarabi strode over to Simba and wrapped her arms around him. He buried his face in her strong shoulder. When they finally released one another, Sarabi took Simba's arm and led him toward the throne. He ran his fingers over the back, glancing back at the crowd. Simba's eyes met Nala's, and she nodded reassuringly. He took a deep breath and sat, his back straight and his features regal. The throne room erupted with cheers; Timon, who had climbed Pumbaa like a tree and was sitting on his shoulders, was the loudest.

From his position, Simba saw a fiery-haired woman tear through the crowd toward his adoptive parents. She tore Timon off of Pumbaa's shoulders and pulled him into her arms. Simba was momentarily frightened, but when he saw the two bright red heads pressed together, it clicked. As Simba watched Pumbaa scoop both into his arms, a smile burst into his face; a glance to the left revealed Nala hugging Sarafina tightly, and a turn to his right had him looking at his own mother. He could even feel Mufasa's presence in the sunlight shining into the room.

Simba was home.


	19. Chapter 19

Epilogue

Simba clambered up a rock, trying to get a better view of the Pridelands sunset. Finally finding a perch at the apex, he took a deep breath and let it out. After nearly a week of organizing, decision-making, and working, the new king had desperately needed a break from it all.

Shielding his eyes from the setting sun, Simba looked out over the Pridelands. People were gathered in small clusters, likely busy at their respective tasks. He could faintly make out a figure darting from group to group, staying only a moment or so with each. A small smile formed on his face; Nala was hard at work.

She had been an incredible help through these chaotic days, always advising, managing, and problem-solving. It was Nala who had arranged a trial for each individual Looter, and Nala who had banished those who remained violent, and Nala who had allowed those who wanted to start new lives to do so in exchange for community service.

He couldn't have done it without her.

He wouldn't have wanted to.

Simba stared into the horizon, lost in thought.

"Should the new king really be... _lion around_?"

"Aah!"

Whirling around, Simba found himself face to face with a wizened, white-haired, and utterly amused old man. He chuckled nervously.

"I've never been scared by a pun before."

"And now that you are in the palace, it will not be the last time."

He extended a gnarled hand toward Simba.

"I am Rafiki—an old friend."

"A new friend to me."

"Ah, but you are not new to me. I had the pleasure of announcing your birth to your father twenty-three years ago."

Rafiki looked over him with pride.

"And now I have the pleasure of seeing you on the throne. Your rule will be long and prosperous, Simba."

"I wish I had your confidence..."

He trailed off as he watched Rafiki's smile transform from proud to mischievous.

"Now why would you lack confidence? You have the blood of Mufasa and Jabari flowing through your veins."

"What I don't have is their wisdom."

"That is not what you are missing."

The old man winked, then used his walking stick to vault over Simba's head and onto a nearby boulder. With his long, bony fingers shielding his eyes, Rafiki scanned the people below. After a moment of stunned silence, Simba spoke up.

"What am I missing, then?"

"Jarabi was never without Akilah by his side, nor Mufasa without Sarabi. The intelligence and inventiveness of these two women was just as important to the Pridelands as the kings were."

He shot a pointed look in Simba's direction. The young king mulled over Rafiki's words.

"Well, Nala has some really amazing ideas for the future of the Pridelands—she was talking about relaxing the laws that define the clans system to provide more flexibility and to keep people from being declared Outcasts..."

He turned redder than the sky overhead.

"Is it required that the king be married to his most trusted advisor?"

"It certainly does not hurt."

Rafiki winked again, and Simba blushed harder, but couldn't hold back a smile. He leapt to his feet.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to ask Nala a very important question."

 **A/N: One final shoutout to all of my reviewers—thank you so much for your patience and support!**


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